


Reach Down Into the Depths; I Will Not Let You Drown

by plantyourtreeswithme



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Child Frodo Baggins, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Bilbo Baggins, POV Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme
Summary: reach down into the depths, dearest, and feel the river's power; i will not let you drownand come closer to the fire, my love, and warm your aching limbs; i will not let it burn youand lie your head against the earth, my sweet, and shut your eyes; i will wake you when it's timeand breathe deep the twilight air, my darling, and rest easy; i will be here at your sidewhen you are ready to love again.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Do You Feel the Earthen Call, Rattling at Your Bones?

**Author's Note:**

> You can hover over Sindarin and Khuzdul with your mouse to see the English translation. All translations are also listed at the end of each chapter (for mobile readers). Also included at the end of each chapter is an updated list of the characters that bend and their elements, a dictionary for terms/characters not included in The Hobbit or the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and my language sources.
> 
> Some scenes are abridged/adapted from the Hobbit films.
> 
> Please note that the rating for this fic will be changed in later chapters, and warnings will be subsequently updated. I will be including rating and trigger warnings at the beginnings of chapters containing violent/unsettling material.
> 
> I'll be updating this fic on Fridays! We'll see if I'll be able to maintain a consistent writing schedule. If you appreciate my work, please feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you liked about it. I love discussing ideas and characters with readers!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i feel it, too. it has beckoned to me since the dawn of time._
> 
> _heed it, now, heed it - and keep away from the water_

_The sun is warm on Bilbo's skin as he watches Frodo at the riverbank._

_"Where is_ 'adad _, Papa?" his fauntling son calls as he plays with the water._

_"He should be on his way by now, my love," Bilbo says. The great willow branches sway above him, and he relishes their shade under the hot summer air._

_"I think I can see him coming down from the mountain!" Frodo cries, and Bilbo looks; sees a dwarf resplendent in an evergreen tunic and silver belt, walking down the steps carved into the rockface._

_He watches his husband approach, and knows only peace._

* * *

Nienna's voice -

\- ringing through his dreams, swathing him in concomitant warmth and chill as he spent day after day tucked away under the sheets, grief-stricken and despondent and numb.

Her sweet, gentle voice, saying softly, _"There is more to you than you realize, little one. So much lies in wait for you outside these rolling hills you call your home."_

He remembers the visions that foretold of his journey, and he prays.

 _"Ulu, lasto beth nîn,"_ he says quietly, calling upon the familiar tingling in his stomach that summoned the water and raised his hand, extending his wrist up into the air as he hums to himself.

The stream he is kneeling beside answers his song, the water rising as he moves his hand. It slides coolly over his fingers, shimmering with an unearthly light, transparent and vaguely glove-shaped. Satisfied, he twirls the water over his head, twisting it into different shapes as he approaches Ori.

 _"Annon allen, nên o Chithaeglir,"_ he says as he prepares the healing water. _"Boe ammen veriad lîn, hîr, a athae guin tûr lîn."_

"Thank you, Bilbo," Ori says with a grateful sigh.

"What was it this time?" Bilbo asks, enveloping the scrape on the young dwarrow's knee with the water and moving his hand over the wound.

"I just tripped and banged it up a bit," Ori says. He rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at his oldest brother. "Mother hen over there insisted on getting you."

"I will _not_ have you risk infection on this journey," Dori snaps; "not in these conditions, and not at your age. Just be grateful for Master Bilbo's gifts."

"Yes, be grateful for our burglar," comes a low, familiar rumble from behind. Bilbo starts, nearly losing hold of the water and undoing his work - but he recovers. He finishes the little healing ritual, gives his final thanks to Ulmo, and sends the water soaring back into the stream, casting a look at Thorin over his shoulder as he does so.

The look on Thorin's face whenever he witnesses Bilbo using his gift never fails to send butterflies practically cartwheeling through his stomach. Beneath all the usual awe and admiration, there is always something _more_ \- something Bilbo can't place, but which fills him with a terrible, breathtaking sense of hope each time he sees it.

Thorin locks eyes with Bilbo for a moment, then clears his throat and looks away all too soon, cheeks tinged pink. "Will you come and finish your sparring now, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo smiles at him, delights in the way it makes the dwarf's blushing worsen. "Yes, I think I will," he replies; "now that all the distractions have been done away with."

"It is not my fault you insisted on looking at that flower," Thorin teases as they fall into step together, tracing their path back into the forest.

"I _had_ to marvel at it!" Bilbo insists. "I've never seen anything like it back home."

"Nor have I."

"Well, of course you haven't, you ridiculous dwarf -"

He blocks Thorin's surprise attack without batting an eye, water from the river swirling around him like a protective shield, stronger than any rock Thorin can throw at him.

Thorin laughs quietly, low and good-natured. "You must learn to stop resorting to water as your primary defense, Master Baggins," he says. "By the time we arrive at Erebor, all the rivers will have frozen over."

"You know that won't stop me," Bilbo grins. With the swipe of a hand, a lick of fire streams towards Thorin, dashing against the mound of earth the dwarf quickly summons. While his opponent is distracted, Bilbo calls upon the wind, directing its force at him with all the strength of a wild zephyr.

Thorin has no time to block the gust of air, and merely braces himself against it, digging his boots into the hard earth to keep himself from being blown away. Once he has recovered, he hurls his sword at Bilbo, splitting it into hundreds of sharp little shards with his metalbending - and Bilbo struggles to call upon a wall of rock to stop them. He pushes the chunk of dirt down into the ground again as quickly as he can, feeling the earth struggle against him - it is an arduous task, and he can feel the pieces of the sword escaping -

He hears rather than sees Thorin lunge forward, and Orcrist, fully intact, swings down at him out of nowhere.

He shut his eyes.

When he opens them again, he finds Thorin encased in a mass of ice, all but his head frozen solid. He pants for breath, teeth chattering and all, and his sword has been dropped to the ground.

"Sorry," Bilbo gasps, releasing the ice back into its original form. "I'm so sorry, Thorin. Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," Thorin shudders. Bilbo quickly pulls the water back to him, heating it with a little flame cupped in his left hand before running it over Thorin's body in an attempt to heal any wounds he may have inflicted.

 _"Díheno nin ninya úgerth, Ulu. Nai tiruvantel ar varyvantel i Valar, Thorin..._ I'm truly sorry, dear. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's alright," Thorin murmurs. "You d-didn't hurt me. You're getting m-much better."

Bilbo shakes his head with a sad smile and releases the water for the final time, letting it seep into the ground. "I panicked. I should've countered with earthbending like you taught me, not..."

"You are st-still improving," Thorin shivers, "and you are working hard. I am sorry my g-guidance has not been enough for you."

Bilbo carefully lays a hand on Thorin's cheek and says, "You will always be enough for me."

Thorin leans into his touch, savoring the intimacy between them with closed eyes. "I hope that you are right."

* * *

Thorin leaves him with a soft touch at his back and a lingering smile.

He works his way through the earthbending forms Thorin has shown him - slowly, with deep breaths - and ponders what has happened. The dwarven prince was too forgiving after he responded out of panic with water instead of earth; this much is true. He knows he is too dependent on his natural bending, but he cannot help his instincts.

Waterbending has always come easily to him, ever since he was a faunt. His mother and father were an earthbender and a nonbender respectfully, so it came as a great surprise when they first noticed Bilbo babbling and playing with streams and brooks as a small child. Belladonna had only ever used her gift for gardening - to the delight of her earthbending neighbor, Hamfast Gamgee - and for impressing her husband. ("And for other things, too, of course," she always liked to tell Bilbo, her eyes glinting mischievously.)

Bilbo heaves the rock he has been levitating over his head and struggles to lower it gently to the ground. He is tired. Earthbending is proving to be even more difficult now than it normally is, so he decides to finish for the day and return to the Company.

He'd heard tell of his mother's teenage adventures from multiple disapproving relatives at every family gathering, but he never thought any of them to be true. It was very unlikely she'd ever even strayed past the borders of the Shire, no matter how much Tookish blood ran through her veins; it just wasn't something that was done by hobbits, at least not anymore.

The Tooks were well-known throughout the Shire for their earthbending abilities, which was why Bilbo had always been considered something of an oddity amongst his family. None of that mattered anymore, though, for he'd scampered off with a band of dwarves, and fallen in love with one, too. How his cousin Lobelia will whisper if she ever finds out, gossiping nonbender that she is.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow!" Gandalf calls to him as he emerges from the woods. The wizard is hunched over the fire near the edge of their camp, releasing little puffs of air from his hand in an effort to keep it from dying out. "How goes your worldly work?"

Bilbo chuckles. "It's getting there."

"Mm, I should hope so. Thorin is not always the most agreeable fellow, but he is an experienced bender and an even better teacher." Gandalf gives him a twinkling, all-knowing grin, then says, "We will be nearing Mirkwood soon, where the lands are full of wild, firebending elves. They will not take too kindly to a waterbending hobbit - least of all one who chooses to spend all his time with a sorry pack of dwarves."

"Well, it wasn't exactly _my_ choice, was it?" Bilbo says with a voice full of mirth. "I was forced into this - just as I was forced into this cosmic, stars-aligned, one-in-a-million role as Avatar."

When his parents had died, one after the other, it sent him into a state of desolation. He was alone, a waterbender in an earthen house. Grieving. Staying within the confines of his room, listening as Nienna wept in his dreams, and emerging every so often to have the occasional meal.

One night, he had a particularly terrible nightmare, and awoke to the sound of a large chunk of rock tearing through the roof of Bag End, threatening to ruin the pristine, oaken floorboards given to his parents by his grandfather during the house's construction. So he (unaware that he had called to it himself as he slept) rushed to stop it, rising from bed and raising his hands in a harsh, jutting motion he didn't even recognize, alien to his normal waterbending movements.

The earth stopped, and reluctantly retreated back into the hill.

That was when he realized he was the fabled Avatar: risen from the dead and gifted with powers thought lost long ago (at the cost of his ceiling).

Now Gandalf gives him a slight smile. "All I am saying," he continues, "is that it is dangerous to be graced with such power, and it would be best for you to stay out of sight."

He shivers at the look the old airbender sends him. How unfair it is, that he always seems to know...

He remembers when he first acquired the Ring and slipped it into his pocket, hastily forgetting it - down in the deep, dark caves, where he had bested Gollum at his game of riddles and scared the sickening little creature with his abilities. He remembers when it had slipped from his overcoat on the Carrock, after Thorin embraced him - and Gandalf had plucked it up with a grim expression and handed it to Bilbo again, and -

"It is offered to me freely?" Bilbo said quietly, staring down at the golden ring sitting so heavily on his palm that it left a mark. "You... you _want_ me to have it?"

He closed his eyes - locks of dirty hair in need of cutting curling at his temples - and when he opened them again, he could feel them glowing a bright, harsh white, giving him a ghostly appearance. The Avatar stood straight, and somehow, it seemed as if he were towering over the dwarves, albeit shorter than all of them. Many of them fell to their knees, _afraid_ , overcome by his display of power.

When he opened his mouth, his speech was layered over a thundering tone - the voice of Eru Ilúvatar, who both blessed and cursed him by allowing him to be the _er_. His voice echoed over the dips and crags of the Carrock as he spoke in tongues even he did not understand. He was dimly aware of the Company's fear, almost tangible in the heavy air. The water from the minuscule, sparkling stream hundreds of feet below them rose up behind Bilbo at the raise of a single hand, the riverbed completely dry. A thick wind wove itself around the Ring and elevated it in a swirling sphere of movement. Magma gushed from the fissures of the Carrock, seeping into the cracks around the dwarves and threatening to send them tumbling into the gully below. Stones broke themselves off of the cliff and finally heeded his call, encircling his small figure in a never-ceasing, spiralling chain.

He was the Avatar. He was the strength of all Avatars before him, awash in the light of the Two Trees, sick with power. The temptation of the Ring was far too great, and he could not help but give in to its wiles -

He felt Thorin's hand through the thick blanket of power, resting gently on his forearm.

He stopped.

"It is alright, Bilbo," Thorin said softly as the light faded from his eyes. "I am here. It is alright."

Then Bilbo had forced the Ring back into Gandalf's hands with trembling fingers, trying to keep from sobbing, trying to hide his shaking limbs...

And now it seems Gandalf wants Bilbo to take it back again.

"I can't, Gandalf," he says. "Not again. It would be... too much for me to handle."

Gandalf looks at him contemplatively, and nods. "I only want you to be safe, Bilbo. But the fact that you are aware it would overwhelm you speaks volumes."

Somehow, that makes him feel better.

* * *

The first summons happened when he was thirty-five, standing at the river near Brandybuck Hall after a long walk, practicing his waterbending to relieve the tension in his upper back. He had suddenly frozen up, the water suspended above his head drenching him. His mind went blank, and then -

_He was standing in what appeared to be a courtyard, surrounded by a soft, pale glow. The sound of gently ringing wind chimes echoed around him, but he couldn't see the source of the tinkling; in fact, it was rather difficult for him to make out anything at all._

_"Bilbo Baggins," said a celestial voice that sent vibrations thrumming through his body._ "Ai megil."

_He couldn't tell exactly where the speaker was, but he had a feeling that he wasn't meant to. It was not the Allfather, that much he was sure of._

_"You have been chosen as the Avatar of this age," the disembodied voice told him; "successor of Tuor, and Fingon his predecessor."_

_"That doesn't make sense," Bilbo protested. "The Avatar vanished centuries ago, and I thought its spirit passed upon death. Is Tuor not an immortal being who resides in Valinor?"_

_"He chose to preserve the powers of the savior, lest they fall to Arda's darkness upon his passage to Valinor - and he did not give them up until your birth," he was told. "Because he never died, he had the choice to relinquish his power to someone he deemed worthy. No Avatar shall ever again be bestowed this gift of Ilúvatar."_

_"Why did he choose to give it up, then? Why me?"_

_Somehow, he felt the voice smile. "Because a great shadow has fallen across the world of men, and he saw no other source of light."_

Then Bilbo was standing knee-deep in the Brandywine, the river gurgling happily around him, unaware of the fact that his entire life was changing for good.

Now he is used to the call of the Valar, and receives them with increasing frequency as his journey progresses. Manwë beckons to him as he tosses and turns in the night, trying to sleep in his bed of straw at Beorn's living-place, and he has no choice but to answer.

_"Why can't I move the earth as I can with the others?" he asks upon arriving in Valinor. "Why is it so difficult for me, when I have mastered all other elements?"_

_"Be gentle, little flame," says the voice. "Be good to Yavanna, as you are to all others. Do not force her to bend to your will."_

Then he wakes, and knows what must be done.

* * *

"What is it you wish to be taught, little one," Beorn says later, his eyes shining brightly in the clearing, "that your dwarven friends cannot already do?"

"Aulë bound them to the earth before they could even breathe," Bilbo says, looking up at the gargantuan skin-changer with trepidation. "They cannot teach me what they were born knowing. I want to learn to be kind to the earth."

It makes no sense for him to grapple with what should be his native element - considering he lives within it; considering his family is known for their manipulation of it; considering he has fallen in love with an earthbender. It only comes naturally to him when he is in the Avatar state, smoldering with the might of hundreds before him.

"The earth is slow," the bear-man says, coaxing a jagged mound from the ground beneath their feet and pulling it up towards the sky. "It is difficult to persuade, but you must be patient with it."

Bilbo can feel Thorin's eyes upon him from across the meadow as he calls upon the shaky, unfamiliar prickling at the center of his chest. _I will not hurt you,_ he thinks. _I will be gentle with you. I will use you only for good, I promise._

He concentrates on his vow, somewhat aware of his arms moving in slow motions, heaving on the earth. Without warning, Yavanna pulls back at him, and a crag juts from the ground, faster than he has ever been able to summon it before.

"Good!" Beorn booms. "Very good."

He shows Bilbo the various techniques and angular movements, guiding him through the steps with a patience he has never seen in any dwarf. There is something ancient and rustic in the way Beorn teaches him to bend, in the way he instructs the Avatar with a stoic tranquility. Bilbo feels more connected to the earth than ever before, saying little prayers to Yavanna as he shifts his weight from side to side. Something tells him Beorn has practiced these methods for centuries, honing his craft in his own unorthodox way - and this appeals to Bilbo, who has never encountered anything like it in his studies with hobbits or dwarves, said to be masters in their own right.

"You are a quick study, Avatar," Beorn tells him as dusk looms over their heads. "It is clear to me that this is not the first time you have worked with a mentor before."

"I learned the ways of the air from Lord Elrond himself."

"You are a good student. You honor Aulë and his wife," Beorn says. "I have one last trial for you. You must try to hold _this_ " - he draws from the earth the largest boulder Bilbo has ever seen and holds it in the air - "over your head." It thunders to the ground as he sets it down again.

"I... I'm not strong enough," Bilbo says, suddenly very aware of his diminutive stature. "I couldn't possibly."

"Nonsense."

"But - I'm only a hobbit -"

 _"Try,"_ Beorn insists gruffly, and with a great pealing laugh and a stomp to the ground, he sends the rock soaring into the air, descending down upon Bilbo's head -

\- he raises his little hands, praying, _Ivon, aiya; han mathon i chae_ -

\- someone from behind calls his name -

\- and the stone, almost comically, is going to kill him, but he crouches down and places his palm against the ground, drawing his power from the deep, lumbering earth -

\- and he holds the boulder with one hand, and it feels like it's going to crush him, splinter his bones, but he stands firm and, getting to his feet, throws it down upon the grassy field, smashing it into a hundred little pieces, his chest heaving.

"Bilbo! Bilbo, you - you could've _killed him_!" Thorin snarls at Beorn, drawing Bilbo into his arms and insisting on looking him square in the face. Bilbo is not sure how he crossed the field so quickly. "Tell me you are alright, please, Bilbo, you -"

"Yes, yes, I'm alright," Bilbo squabbles, trying to ignore the feeling of Thorin's thumb on his cheek, setting his face alight.

"He _is_ the Avatar, you know," Beorn says with a toothy grin. "He is more powerful than all of us combined; I think he has proved that many times over. He certainly did today."

Bilbo winces, expecting Thorin to look at him with fear and sick admiration, but all he sees in the dwarven prince's face is concern.

And something else he cannot quite place, but that puts him at peace nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul translations (in order of appearance):**  
>  _'adad_ \- father
> 
>  **Sindarin translations (in order of appearance):**  
>  _Ulu, lasto beth nîn_ \- Ulmo, hear my voice  
>  _Annon allen, nên o Chithaeglir_ \- I give thanks to you, water of the Misty Mountains  
>  _Boe ammen veriad lîn, hîr, a athae guin tûr lîn._ \- Grant us your protection, river, and heal us with your power.  
>  _Díheno nin ninya úgerth, Ulu. Nai tiruvantel ar varyvantel i Valar, Thorin…_ \- Forgive my wrongdoing, Ulmo. May the Valar protect you, Thorin...  
>  _ai megil_ \- little sword  
>  _er_ \- chosen one  
>  _Ivon, aiya; han mathon nu ni i chae_ \- Yavanna, help me; I feel the earth beneath me
> 
>  **Notable benders:**  
>  Waterbenders - Bilbo Baggins  
> Healers - Bilbo Baggins  
> Earthbenders - Belladonna Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Beorn  
> Metalbenders - Thorin Oakenshield  
> Firebenders - Fingon  
> Airbenders - Tuor, Gandalf the Grey  
> Avatars - Fingon, Tuor, Bilbo Baggins
> 
>  **Legendarium terms glossary (in order of appearance):**  
>  Nienna - a queen of the Valar, or a goddess in the Tolkien universe; associated with grief, sadness, and courage  
> Ulmo - Valar/god of the seas, oceans, and all water  
> The Valar - the governing, celestial bodies of Middle-Earth  
> Eru Ilúvatar - The One; the single creator of the Ainur, the Valar, and all of Arda  
> Tuor - a Man of the First Age and champion of the Edain; the only Man to pass on to Valinor and become immortal until the end of Arda  
> Fingon - an Elvish prince, son of Fingolfin who became High King of the Noldor and died battling a balrog  
> Valinor - the home of the Valar  
> Manwë - king of the Valar and master of the winds/air  
> Yavanna - the Valië of the earth; Giver of Fruits and wife to Aulë  
> Aulë - the Smith of the Valar, creator of all gems and minerals; father of all dwarves, known to them as Mahal
> 
> **Sources used for Sindarin translations:**
> 
>   * [Parf Edhellen](https://www.elfdict.com/phrases/1-sindarin)
>   * ["The Fellowship of the Ring" Dialogue](http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_fotr.htm)
>   * [Useful Elvish Phrases](http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html)
> 



	2. For Something Brews Within the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _something sinister,_
> 
> _cloistered and tucked away within the hearts of wicked men._
> 
> _skirt around its shore, my love; i would not risk tainting your unmarred soul._

"'Adad, _why can't I have tattoos like Papa?"_

_Thorin laughs and claps his son on the shoulder. "They would be unfit for a prince, my boy."_

_"But he -"_

_"Hush, hush, I'm only teasing." Thorin paces over to the fireplace and stokes the flames. Erebor is deathly cold in wintertime, and he knows it will not do for his son to study when he is shivering so hard he can barely focus. "Return to your studies,_ yanâd. _Your father earned those tattoos when he was deemed worthy, and I can assure you that if you work hard enough, you will reach that level of mastery before you've even come of age."_

_The young boy beams, and although he is not of their blood, Thorin swears he has his papa's smile._

* * *

Thorin watches the Avatar run across the water, tossing burst after burst of flame at the orcs - passing Thorin's barrel in a blur, taking the dagger from his outstretched hand, and jumping up onto a log to quickly stab one of the foul beasts before it can lop a dwarf's head off.

He wonders where the chosen one learned to firebend.

Bilbo tosses the knife back to Thorin and continues, now taking great swells of water from the river and using them to protect the dwarves from the orcs, encasing them in shells of water and freezing them into ice whenever he glimpses an arrow flying their way. The water can stop the orcs' fiery attacks, but Thorin knows Bilbo will never forgive himself if one of the Company falls to a meager metal weapon.

He helps as best he can, breaking the heads of the arrows with his metalbending and disintegrating the orcs' weapons in their hands. He is discontent from his barrel, however, which the Avatar must ascertain when he cries, "Bilbo! Lift me!"

A strong wind immediately catapults him from the barrel like a bolt from a crossbow, and he catches himself with a set of earthen steps, pulling them from the ridge beside the river with a wrench to his gut. Immediately, the blond imp - _Thranduil's spawn,_ he remembers - sends the silvery elf-fire his way, and he's caught off guard, his beard nearly singed. Bilbo lets out a fierce cry, and the river surges up before him, smacking the he-elf in the face and extinguishing the flames.

He looks 'round for the little hobbit, gratitude coursing through his veins, and spots him running across the lurching stream again, darting neatly between the barrels and managing to take out more orcs than all the Silvan devils combined. Thorin gathers his strength and hurls a barrage of stones at orcs and elves alike, several of which hit their mark and topple them over into the waters below.

As they advance down the riverbank, Thorin realizes they are quickly outrunning their enemies, and for a split second, he worries that Bilbo is too engrossed in the fight, that he will leave Thorin behind -

And then he watches the Avatar summon a gale and sweep him off his feet, so to speak - and he soars back into his barrel, and Bilbo finally releases the aqueous shields encircling the dwarves, looking as if he is about to pass out from sheer exhaustion. Thorin practically stumbles out of his barrel once they reach the shallows, desperate to reach Bilbo, who has nearly collapsed, his hands and knees submerged in the silt and sand.

He still doesn't know how Bilbo managed to keep quiet and out of the elves' way for nearly two months while the rest of them were imprisoned. He is not sure how much the hobbit ate or slept - the dark circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his face frighten Thorin. And so he loves him all the more for the ferocity with which he fought on the Company's behalf.

"Bilbo," he breathes, heart fit to burst.

"I love you," are his words unspoken.

The hobbit gazes up at him, his face filled with relief and a great tenderness and _anguish_ ; Thorin knows he's somehow found it within himself to feel remorse for the monstrous, orcish lives he'd rightfully taken. He can see it tearing at him, threatening to pilfer him of his happiness...

"I am here," he says, and the next word slips unbidden from his mouth before he can stop it: " _ghivashel_ , I am here with you."

Bilbo smiles and holds Thorin's hands to his chest, rubbing his thumb over the broad, weathered knuckles. "I -"

Suddenly, he is on his feet, and with a great rush, Thorin and all the dwarves are thrown back into the middle of the river - now dry, the majority of it spreads like a vast wall behind Bilbo, and licks of flame flicker along his outstretched arms, his palms raised high. Through the briny, frothing partition, Thorin sees a vague silhouette, and an arrow, drawn and nocked and aimed at Bilbo.

 _"No,"_ he howls, but Balin, Dwalin, and Bofur charge at him, their combined force too much for him to take -

He watches, on the verge of tearing at his beard, as Bilbo stands against the bowman; watches as the adversary falters, the bowstring loosens, the arrow is tucked away. Simultaneously, Bilbo's protective wall slinks back into its bed of sand.

"...cannot believe it," Thorin hears the man say as he hurtles forward, now free of dwarvish arms. "I have never seen a waterbender beyond Esgaroth as long as I have lived."

"And I have never met one besides myself," Bilbo gushes. "My people are earthbending, earthfaring, and -"

"Who is this?" Thorin asks with suspicion, laying a hand on the Avatar's arm.

"I am Bard, of Laketown," the man says. He is a strange, tall figure, swathed in a blue tunic and brown fur cloak, a quiver of arrows that seems to be made of ice cinched at his waist. Thorin does not at all like the way he looks at Bilbo. "I assume you are accompanying my lord Avatar, as well?"

And Thorin likes even less the fact that he called Bilbo a _lord_.

"Please, don't say such things," Bilbo titters. "We were wondering if you could help us reach Laketown?"

"I will escort you," the bowman insists. "It would be an honor. We have prophecies, you know, lord, that tell of your forthcoming."

"It's just Bilbo, if you don't mind -"

"Excuse us for one moment," Thorin cuts in. He tugs the hobbit aside until they are a ways away, whispering, "Why do you seek this man's help? He has naught to offer us."

"He has a barge further down the river," Bilbo hisses in return. The sudden irritation in his voice surprises Thorin. "And a guide will hasten our journey, I'm sure. We need time on our side, now more than ever with Durin's Day approaching."

"So you have already decided."

Bilbo looks taken aback. "Well - well, it's your decision to make, Thorin -"

"But you are the Avatar."

He sighs irritatedly. "As if that means anything. I think this is the best course of action, and one Gandalf would condone if he were with us, but if you have any better ideas..."

Thorin shakes his head, knowing he has none. "We will follow your plan. And Bilbo -"

He catches the hobbit's little hand in his and struggles to keep from kissing it.

"Yes?"

"Do not trust him. Please. Darkness lies within many men's hearts, even if their intentions appear to be pure."

Bilbo softens. "I know, Thorin. I am not a fool."

* * *

"With whom did you study?" he hears Bard ask as he approaches the mismatched pair, their hands moving in tandem as they push the boat forward with their combined powers. "You are a very gifted waterbender for one with so little experience, as you claim."

"I..." Bilbo laughs, a soft blush gracing his cheeks. "I have never studied the ways of water with anyone. I told you I've never met another like me before."

Bard falters in his bending, mouth agape. The barge keeps moving, Bilbo's own abilities making up for the bowman's instantaneously. "You mean to say that this all comes _naturally_ to you?"

Bilbo is even more flustered at that, and opts to say nothing.

"You far outshine all other benders in Laketown, Master Avatar," Bard fawns; "in fact, I'm sure you'd be allowed to receive the mark of my people if you so wished" - and this is when Thorin chooses to step in and clear his throat so the pair are aware of his presence. They jump apart guiltily, which only serves to reinforce Thorin's shoddy impression of Bard.

"How much farther to Laketown?" he asks shrewdly. Bilbo is refusing to meet his gaze.

"A few more hours," Bard replies. "I shall tell you when we are approaching. We're going to have to conceal you all somehow."

"Perhaps the barrels again?" Bilbo suggests, and Bard furrows his brow.

"Perhaps..."

...and just like that, Thorin is climbing out of a fish-filled vat and up into the bowman's house, coming face-to-face with a group of wide-eyed children.

"Oh," he says, and then a gentle hand presses against the small of his back, and Bilbo is murmuring, "Excuse me," and shifting around him, and all Thorin can focus on is the little patch of comfort Bilbo's touch has left behind.

He finds him later once everyone has settled down: shivering in a little corner of the homestead, a worn blanket draped 'round him while the rest of the dwarves crowd around the hearth and argue about their next move in hushed voices. Compassion floods Thorin's heart at the sight of his love, his One, bedraggled and still drenched with water, dripping onto the dilapidated floorboards.

"Hello," he says as he sits next to Bilbo and sheds his fur cloak, which Bilbo had somehow, miraculously, stolen from the elves and returned to him as he broke them out of their cells.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered as he slipped it through the bars, "I couldn't find Orcrist, or the rest of the weapons - but this was lying on a table out in the open, and I thought - well, I - I rather thought you'd like to have it back."

And Thorin's heart had threatened to betray him as he held the worn pelt in his hands and could not say a word, lest he confess his love right then and there. Bilbo - sweet, kind, heavenly Bilbo - had brought his cloak back to him. His mother had sewed it for him when he was a mere boy, chest puffed out with pride as he brought home his first bear-skin and presented it to her.

"Here you are, _yanâd_ ," he remembered her saying. "You will grow into it, I promise. Here; you can pretend you are king now" - and she bundled him up in it and tickled him, and he'd laughed and laughed and laughed.

And now Bilbo is smiling at him. "Hello, my dear," he beams, and then says: "Oh!" as Thorin wraps the cape tightly about his shoulders. "Thorin, you really don't have to, I'm sure you're soaking as it is -"

"It is the least I can do to repay you, Master Avatar," he grins.

"Oh, don't _tease_ , you insufferable dwarf!" Bilbo exclaims as Thorin chortles. " _Prince_ , indeed. Surely you must be some kind of servant, what with your cruel words unbecoming of a king."

Thorin ducks his head and blushes. He can't think of a response, so he takes the hobbit's little hands in his own and examines his fingers, small and calloused from (he assumes) gardening. They are also still slightly wet, the ghost of the lake lingering on him.

"Why haven't you bended yourself dry, _amrâlimê_?" he asks.

"Well, you see - I really don't know why, but the lakewater seems to be more difficult for me to handle. Maybe because I've never been here before, I'm not quite sure."

"That's never been a problem for you before, my sweet," Thorin says, with some concern.

"Yes, well. I'm also not at my strongest right now..." The hobbit trails off, looking extraordinarily tired. Thorin wishes he could kiss the bags under his eyes away. "I'm sure I'll figure it out, Thorin."

"I know you will." Thorin settles for kissing the tips of Bilbo's fingers, one by one, and delights in the look of sheer adoration the hobbit gives him as he does so. "I wanted to thank you for all you've done for us."

Bilbo tuts, and reaches up to stroke his hand through Thorin's hair with ease.

His heart jumps to his throat.

The Avatar doesn't seem to notice that Thorin has stopped breathing. Perhaps he is unaware of the significance of what he's done; perhaps hobbits have no such custom of their own, where the intimacy of touching, brushing, tangling one's hair and beard is reserved only for lovers - soulmates, Ones, perfectly matched and whole together.

Thorin draws breath, and does not stop Bilbo.

"You don't have to thank me, my dear," the burglar says softly. "I would do it all again in a heartbeat."

"I love you," he does not say, but Thorin meets his sweet gaze, and hears him nonetheless.

* * *

He stands at the end of the withered wooden dock and watches.

Bilbo runs across the lake and plays with Bard's waterbending children, the two girls with soft smiles and kind, clever faces, and Thorin remembers: watching a fierce little creature charging forward with flame on his breath and fire in his eyes, and he remembers his own slipping shut as he could not help but succumb to the darkness...

Who is he to contain his jealousy, as he remembers Bilbo protecting him so fiercely, carding his fingers through Thorin's hair, and now watches as he spends more and more of his time with Bard and his offspring.

The last indication of Bilbo's returned affections had been when he'd vouched for Thorin in front of the people of Laketown. He stood tall and powerful, and demanded that the Company be allowed to approach the Mountain. Finally, the Master had relented, and Thorin could breathe again; and he turned towards Bilbo to thank him, to maybe even kiss his cheek - but then he caught a glimpse of him speaking with Bard hurriedly, his hand resting on the bowman's sleeve, and he felt oddly empty.

Now he watches the Avatar run with the little children, tossing a watery sphere back and forth across the murky lake.

Bilbo said he'd experienced difficulty bending in this particular place. Thorin thinks of the decades the dragon has looked down upon this very town from the Mountain; thinks of the evil, sickening stench that seems to have infected Esgaroth - and suddenly, he feels a strange sort of panic overtake him as he stands upon the dock, his stomach churning.

"Master Baggins!" he cries. A pocket of warmth ignites in his chest as he sees the hobbit look his way and smile broadly. "Master Baggins, I must speak with you."

"Yes, Thorin?" Bilbo says brightly a little later, once he's helped the girls get onto the dock and clambered back up himself.

"I wish for a moment's privacy," Thorin says quietly. Bilbo's expression darkens with worry, and he quickly shoos the children away. Thorin nudges Bilbo towards the edge of the dock, quite aware of the fact that the Master's spies are all over this town, and still unsure if Bard is one of them...

"What is it, Thorin?" Bilbo asks. Thorin drinks him in for a moment, then takes the hobbit's hand and kisses it chastely.

"I have missed you dearly," he says as blood rushes to Bilbo's cheeks. "I feel I've barely seen you at all during our stay here. I've had my own duties, negotiating with the others, and you have been distracted by the discovery of others like yourself - rightly so -"

"Why didn't any of you tell me?" Bilbo interrupts softly. "That they were like me."

"No one is like you, my dear burglar."

"Did you not know they were a waterbending people?"

"In truth? I had forgotten," Thorin tells him. "I cannot fully speak for the others, but none of the Company were diplomats during my grandfather's rule, and I hardly ever interacted with the people of Esgaroth myself. My grandfather did not want us meddling with the people of the lake beyond the realm of simple trade - most of which took place within Erebor. Issues pertaining to bending never arose during business, and so it slipped my mind, and faded even more so as time passed on the other side of the Misty Mountains."

"I see." Bilbo looks away glumly.

"What is it, dearheart?"

"I just... I wish I had known," Bilbo explains, "that there were more of us. I've lived most of my life thinking I was the only one, you know. Some of the shipwrights at Mithlond were waterbenders, of course, but I never... got to meet any of them before they died out, and there aren't others like me in the Shire. If I'd only..."

"I'm sorry, Bilbo. No one deserves to endure such isolation, least of all you."

Bilbo nods, then clears his throat after a brief silence. "What is it you wished to tell me?"

"Oh." Thorin takes both of his hands in his own again. "I do not want you playing with the children any longer."

"What do you mean - ?"

"At least, not on the lake. Please. It... it troubles me."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I just worry for your safety whenever you are on it, because of what you told me of your difficulties. I do not trust those waters; I have heard terrible stories about what has happened to those who venture across. It was bad enough that our journey led us here..."

"I am careful, Thorin, and it's getting easier to handle. I can look after myself."

"I know. But... for me, will you at least try to stay away? I know this is asking much of you - I know how you love the waters -"

Bilbo interrupts him by standing on his toes to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. "Of course I will, Thorin. Anything for you."

And there is that sweetness, that tender endearment Bilbo grants only to Thorin, that loving gaze he has missed so much these past few days...

His heart is full again. He is content.

* * *

"...and I always like to say a little prayer to the Valar - well, to Ulmo specifically - when I heal," Bilbo says quietly, twisting his hands in spiraling motions over the basin of water, his face illuminated by its empyrean glow. Thorin looks away as soon as he sees him turn, sensing the Avatar's gaze and struggling to hide his blush.

"I have never seen anything like this," comes Bard's astonished voice. Thorin tries to ignore the great fondness in the man's tone as he pretends to read the list of supplies Balin has handed to him. "However did you learn?"

"Well... I spent a very long time praying and meditating before it was revealed to me," Bilbo explains. "Lord Manwë himself told me it was an art once practiced by the first children of Ilúvatar, but it was mostly forgotten after Cuivienyarna and the coming of men."

"You know so much of our great history," Bard praises him. "I wonder..."

His next words are lost as Balin says, "Thorin? _Atdani adrân sigin._ "

 _"Birashagammi, taflatiyê,"_ he replies deftly, drawing his eyes back to the cirth scrawled hastily on the parchment before him.

 _"Ukshu, nê kikûn ansitihu,"_ Dwalin laughs.

"Do yeh think the Master will be gracious enough to give us all we ask fer?" Balin prompts, ignoring Dwalin's taunts.

"I..."

Thorin stares down at the garbled runes, unable to make sense of them as he focuses on Bard's detestable voice again. He seems to be reciting some sort of poem:

_"...shall run in gladness,_

_The lakes shall shine and burn,_

_All sorrow fail and sadness_

_At the Avatar's return."_

"It's... it's lovely," Bilbo manages, "but I'm sure it's not really about -"

"It is," Bard interjects. "You are more than worthy of the words - _you_ , of all waterbenders, are worthy of the marks."

Bilbo's eyes light up with a delighted expression, and he opens his mouth to speak -

 _"...ma tasakhi targhu takhfishifi udu rugnhu,"_ Dwalin is cackling, regaining Thorin's attention.

"Oh, _îmi_ ," he spits. "Leave me be."

Balin snatches the list back from Thorin and stands. _"Abnâmul,"_ he says, " _nê ihbirê_. I will do it myself, _itdinê d' akshum_. You just rest yer pretty head and don't worry about a thing, yeh poor, lovesick bastard. Dwalin and I shall take care of everythin'."

"When do yeh plan on confessin'?" Dwalin asks as his brother retreats and makes for the door. "You cannae let it go on fer much longer, given the current state of yer attention span."

Thorin chuckles. "Is it truly that obvious?"

"'Tis terribly pathetic."

"Mm. Perhaps soon, then."

"I shall pray fer the two of yeh in the meantime," Dwalin says, clapping Thorin's shoulder and getting up to leave the little table they've been seated at.

"...show me once more?" Bard's voice floats in from the next room, and Thorin can't help but grit his teeth as he watches Bilbo smile and take the man's hands in his own to guide him though the motions again...

* * *

The preparations have been made; the Master has reluctantly agreed to part with the supplies they need; they are about to embark.

Amidst the cheering and howling of the Laketown ruffians, Bilbo lifts his arms to propel the boats forward across the lake. His scarlet sleeves slide down to reveal his skin, now covered in flowing blue tattoos that wind around his bare arms like coursing tributaries.

Thorin had been a witness the night Bilbo was branded: he was there, watching with jealousy as Bard and his children wound the ethereal, dark ink around his lithe frame and pressed their hands to Bilbo's chest, waiting for the tainted liquid to stain his soft, pale skin. He was there, looking on as the little hobbit swelled with belonging, becoming one with these lake-people, feeling at home as this coming-of-age ceremony took its toll on his body.

And still he watches - until somehow, Bilbo notices Thorin's staring and gives him a little smile before his eyes begin to glow - and the waterbending ink lights up with the same bright white as he enters the Avatar state, an incandescent little flame in a vast world of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul translations (in order of appearance):**  
>  _'adad_ \- father  
>  _yanâd_ \- son  
>  _ghivashel_ \- my treasure (lit. treasure of all treasures)  
>  _amrâlimê_ \- my love  
>  _Atdani adrân sigin._ \- I've been waiting for a while now.  
>  _Birashagammi, taflatiyê_ \- I'm sorry, it slipped my mind  
>  _Ukshu, nê kikûn ansitihu_ \- Wow, I never would have guessed  
>  _...ma tasakhi targhu takhfishifi udu rugnhu_ \- ...can't even see his beard dangling from his own chin  
>  _îmi_ \- shut up  
>  _abnâmul_ \- fine  
>  _nê ihbirê_ \- don't listen to me  
>  _itdinê d' akhshum_ \- see if I care
> 
>  **Notable benders:**  
>  Waterbenders - Bilbo Baggins, Bard the Bowman  
> Healers - Bilbo Baggins  
> Earthbenders - Thorin Oakenshield, Beorn  
> Metalbenders - Thorin Oakenshield  
> Firebenders - Fingon, Legolas Thranduillion  
> Airbenders - Tuor, Gandalf the Grey  
> Avatars - Fingon, Tuor, Bilbo Baggins
> 
>  **Legendarium terms glossary (in order of appearance):**  
>  Mithlond - a coastal port in the west, on the Gulf of Lune; home to seafaring, shipwright elves  
> Ulmo - Valar/god of the seas, oceans, and all water  
> Manwë - king of the Valar and master of the winds/air  
> Children of Ilúvatar - the first elves to populate Middle-Earth  
> Cuivienyarna - the tale of the awakening of the first elves in Middle-Earth
> 
> **Sources used for Khuzdul translations:**
> 
>   * [The Dwarrow Scholar](http://www.dwarrowscholar.com/library.html)
> 



	3. Hear the Wind Whistling on the Mountain's Empty Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _listen to these hallowed halls and try to hear the song of my ancestors_
> 
> _beneath the echo of the dragon's gold-encrusted voice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue taken from "The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug."

_"Will you teach me how to airbend, Papa?"_

_Bilbo scoops his son up into his arms and throws him over his shoulder. "No," he says, "but I will teach you how to fly!"_

_"Like a dragon?!" Frodo shrieks, giggling wildly as they approach the balcony overlooking their home._

_"Yes, except you haven't got any scales," Bilbo grins. He holds Frodo in his outstretched arms, dangles him over the cliff face as his son laughs and laughs, and then pulls him back to safety again._

_"You will fly someday, my love," he says, hugging Frodo tightly and carrying him back to bed. "I promise."_

* * *

He realizes, now, as he looks down upon the hills of solid gold, that it is the beast before him that has created the illusion of the mountain's breath.

The great wyrm is fast asleep, little flickers of flame darting in and out of its snout as it inhales and exhales unevenly. A great gust of wind is exuded with every rise and fall of its heaving lungs, expanding beyond the vast arches and high ceilings of the ghastly treasure room, echoing all throughout the Lonely Mountain.

Bilbo feels quite small and close to panicking.

But he remembers Thorin's hushed words beyond the exchequer: "Don't be afraid, my dear," he had said, as Erebor seemed to respire all around them; as the dragon's jagged breaths reverberated through the mountain, down to its core. "Find the white gem. It means more to any dwarf than I could ever describe. It is as dear to us as... as the comfort of your hobbit-hole is to you."

"It cannot possibly be as beautiful as this place," Bilbo whispered, tracing his fingers along the ornate gilding of the stone walls.

Thorin gave him a brilliant smile. "I know it is hard to believe, but it truly is even more precious than all the wealth that lies within that chamber. You will know it when you see it, I promise you."

And so he sets off, wishing more than anything that he has the Ring with him so he can stay out of the dragon's sight; and the coins clink gently as he moves ever so slowly, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest as he tries to be so, so quiet, keeping his tread light and his feet soft, and -

The great eyes open and latch onto Bilbo, and he chokes.

* * *

It speaks to him, and it tells him many things.

It says, _"Do not be afraid,"_ and it says, _"You are so very brave for coming here,"_ and it says, _"I am glad to finally kill again."_

Bilbo's knees give out. He tumbles off the dais he was standing upon in a sudden flurry of movement, and then he is buried in treasure, coins nearly stuffing themselves down his throat and entangling themselves in his hair, and it is so dark...

He bursts up again, gasping for air and drowning in gold no longer, and forces himself to run, paralyzed as he is. He stumbles down a staircase and skips the last five steps, leaping down onto the cursed pile again. The dragon's wheezy intake of breath triggers something in his mind, telling him he's about to be burnt alive. Somehow, that's enough for him to draw upon his power, locked within his chest, and he summons a gale, pushing Smaug's fiery exhalation away from himself as hard as he can.

Its jaw snaps shut, and it says, _"Ah, so you are an airbender, then. Tell me, what are you called?"_

Bilbo stops running. He finally downs some air, and replies as calmly as he can, "I am the Avatar. I was sent here by the K-King under the Mountain to reclaim what is rightfully his."

The dragon opens its mouth again, and it's going to smite him - he braces himself -

But then it laughs instead.

 _"The hellion prince is still alive?"_ it sneers. Bilbo feels himself tremble. _"I was under the impression that I had gotten rid of him and his kindred long ago."_

"Well, you were wrong," Bilbo spits defensively, and the wyrm chuckles.

_"It certainly seems so. I see you've taken a liking to them, so-called Avatar, but now I think it is time for you to die. I'm sure my taunting angers you, and I should hate to make you suffer any longer."_

"You," Bilbo splutters, "you what - ?"

The great maw heaves open with a terrible noise: like two pieces of metal, welded together, being wrenched apart. He sees the beast's belly alight as it calls upon its lifeforce, its deathforce, the embers in the pit of its stomach - and Bilbo reacts instinctively, drawing a stream of water from the little skin he keeps at his belt, and flinging it upwards, dousing the flames before they can reach him and solidifying, crystalizing, expanding, an icy mask over the dragon's face -

Smaug paws at the frost, breaking it away with a swipe of its claws, and gazes at Bilbo with spellbound wonder. _"What is this?"_ it says, astonished. _"What_ are _you?"_

"I told you," Bilbo shudders weakly. "I am the Avatar. I've come to stop you."

The dragon hums, the force of it rumbling through the hall and pulsating through Bilbo's very being. _"Evidently, you are more powerful than you appear. Shall I add you to my collection? Should we see how well you fit in with all my other playthings? You're not nearly as beautiful, but you'll blend in, I think. You're almost as valuable as these priceless carbuncles, the countless_ mithril _pieces, the diamond circlets - all of which belong to me..."_

"You can't keep me here -"

_"For you know that's what will happen to you eventually, don't you? This is what your beloved king will do to you. Oh, shake your head if you must, deny it all you wish; I can sense the sweet affection dripping from you, pooling like sweat, strengthening your scent. Do not be a fool; he will throw you in here and let you soak in precious metals 'til you go mad, or perhaps die first. That is how much the King under the Mountain values you, dear Avatar."_

Bilbo recalls Elrond's training in Rivendell - when he was not yet middle-aged, not quite as sick of adventure as he now is - and he remembers well the elf-lord telling him, "A life of peace and serenity is the only way for you to bend the gales to your will, my friend. Anger will not serve you well in your studies."

 _"And you cannot possibly believe he returns your... feelings, can you?"_ Smaug croons, and he feels fury surge in his gut.

He remembers the forms: eloquence to the point of rigidity, grace beyond normality. The discomfort that comes with elven methods, the tension he feels within his limbs as he tries to manipulate the winds.

_"He would never stoop so low. Just think of it: a king and a measly little wretch? You never stood a chance. He sent you here to die."_

He remembers everything, and with one pull of his fist - blood rushing to his head - he willfully ignores it, and wrenches the dragon's own breath out of its acrid lungs.

The golden eyes, before narrowed to mere slivers, bulge. It gasps for breath, its chest heaving. Its gut flares orange and crimson just beneath the gold-encrusted scales of its abdomen, but, lacking ample air, the fire does not come. Bilbo is glad for it; he clenches his fists and pulls them tight to his chest. He prays to Aulë as he reaches down beneath the mounds of gleaming metal and prises tendrils of stone up from the floor, coiling them around his feet to ground him with the earth.

"I will drown _you_ ," he snarls. "I will choke you with your own fire - I will strangle you with your very life."

 _Try,_ the monster's voice echoes in his head, invading his mind, disrupting his focus. He watches Smaug wheeze for breath, a little bit of air making it back into its lungs - and his face contorts, and he pulls taut on Smaug's existence, and it lurches forward, splaying its talons across the slopes of gold in its dizziness.

 _You... would not dare... kill me,_ come the haggard thoughts of the beast.

"Watch me," Bilbo hisses, and closes off Smaug's windpipe.

The dragon reels - it flails its tail from side to side, attempting to crawl towards Bilbo, but failing - it flaps its wings fruitlessly - its eyes are practically swelling out of their sockets - its eyes -

Something glimmers, catching Bilbo's gaze, reflected in the glossy sheen of Smaug's glazed-over eyes - he can tell its vision must be fading -

The image mirrored in Smaug's sickly irises is of something glistening, gleaming white in the torchlight of the trove.

* * *

"Thorin, please," he begs, bewildered by the dwarrow's behavior. "Please let me pass; I only knocked it out, it'll wake in a few minutes..."

"Did you find it or not?" Thorin asks, in a strange voice unlike his own. "Tell me the truth."

"Thorin... I couldn't..."

"Are you _certain_?"

"Y-yes, I'm so sorry -"

He inches forward and reaches across the sword blocking his path, extending his hand to stroke Thorin's bearded cheek.

"I would never lie to you," he assures him, the Arkenstone heavy at his breast in the pocket of his worn overcoat.

Thorin's shadowed face breaks into a smile, and he lowers his broadsword, placing his hand on top of Bilbo's, sinking into his touch. "I'm sorry for doubting you," he murmurs. "I don't know what came over me -"

"Hush, darling, it's alright..."

For a dizzying, staggering moment, they forget where they are, gazing soppily into each other's eyes - and then they both come to the same realization, and Thorin laces their fingers together, and they hurry out of the antechamber.

* * *

"Can't you - I dunno, go into the Avatar state? Do something?"

Ori scrabbles at Bilbo's coat, rambling in his panic.

He looks across the cavernous forge, setting his eyes upon Thorin, who is barking orders at the others and slowly getting the old, rusted furnaces going.

"No," he says to Ori reassuringly, "Thorin knows what he's doing. Just do what he tells you, and we'll be alright, I promise you."

The cacophonous clamor of the dwarves in the smithy - the dragon throwing itself against the gates keeping them safe - is overwhelming, and Bilbo staggers as Ori scampers away, wants to clamp his hands over his ears and screw his eyes shut to stop the din.

"Bilbo," comes Thorin's voice in front of him. "Are you - ?"

"Yes, Thorin."

"I need you to - the water - in those statues, they're hollow, they've got water in them -"

"Yes -"

"On my mark - he's going to break through, and you need - there is a lever -"

"I understand."

Thorin exhales with relief, and says, "Stay safe, _ghivashel_ ," and Bilbo does not know what that means, but it suffuses him with the same warmth he'd first felt when Thorin had talked of fireflies, and stars, and he'd fallen in love before he'd even realized it.

Now the light of his life is rushing off again, and Bilbo raises his gaze to the great idols of the dwarven kings, his eyes catching on a set of stairs that lead to a ledge near their open mouths, from which he presumes the water will emerge when he pulls upon the gargantuan lever. He immediately sets out towards them, clambering up the stone steps and, when Smaug bursts through the iron-wrought egress, calling upon the air to jump up several flights at a time.

He reaches the top and stretches his hands. The water behind him seethes; he can feel it, hundreds of years old, aching to be free.

He waits for Thorin's call. He is tempted to steal the dragon's breath again, but falters, fearing he will scare the others with his power.

The wyrm pinpoints its gaze and looks Bilbo right in the eye - spreading its wings, opening its mouth.

 _"Now!"_ Thorin bellows, and Bilbo jumps up and _pulls_ , and the lever does not work.

 _"What a pity,"_ Smaug chortles. _"Perhaps I will get to keep you after all, my sweet"_ \- and Bilbo moves without thought, wrenching the water out from stone lips, forcing the doors behind the rocky jaws open. He heaves the water above him with twisting, writhing movements, throwing swell after swell of centuries-old liquid, willing it to gush down Smaug's throat, dragging it up from where it splashes to the floor to barrage the beast again and again, trying to kill it - _die, die, die_ -

Still the water cascades from the dwarf kings' gaping mouths, and he hears gears grinding, a wheel turning; machinery, once stagnant, scrapes back to life again; the forges run hot, and a great vat of erst-dormant gold bubbles, and Bilbo can _smell_ it.

He prays to Yavanna that Thorin is safe, and lets the water go.

Some of the Company are lobbing something explosive at the now advancing dragon, and great carts of coal suspended in the air come crashing down upon the beast. It thrashes and flails, its tail whipping through the air -

"- the Gallery of the Kings!" he hears Thorin shout, and that is enough to send him diving off the precipice as it crumbles beneath the feet, airbending his way to a soft landing - and Thorin again: "Keep running, Bilbo!"

He runs into the adjacent hall, panting heavily, exhaustion weighing him down, and running is so very difficult, what he wouldn't give for a nice cup of tea right now...

The dragon crashes through the wall above him, with a sound so tumultuously loud he feels his heart stutter in his throat - but he keeps running, stumbling as a tapestry flutters down from above and knocks him off his feet.

 _Get up,_ a voice in his head urges. _Get up, Avatar._

"Tuor," he breathes, recognizing the soft tones of his mighty precursor.

_Up on your feet now, little one..._

And he crawls out from under the great cloth, near suffocating, seeing stars, and Smaug is speaking to him, saying something about - about Laketown, and - _Bard_ , and Sigrid and Tilda and -

"You cannot go to Laketown!" he screams, and then the wyrm is closer than it has ever been before, and it says:

 _"You care about them, do you? Just as you do for..."_ It trails off, and then guffaws, a disgustingly hearty laugh that reeks of its rancor. _"Good,"_ it jeers. _"Then you can watch them die."_

Rage engulfs Bilbo, and he rises, feeling the strength of his predecessors coursing through him like the water he so dearly loves. He takes the might of Fingon and unleashes it upon the dragon, spewing flame from his hands and overpowering the dragon's fire with his own. He sends Smaug crashing into the wall against the far side of the chamber, and with his other hand, takes the wyrm's breath again.

 _I will burn you alive for what you have done,_ he thinks, gritting his teeth against the heat of the flame he is exuding. _You were born of fire, and you will die of fire. I will kill you._

"Bilbo!" a voice cries from across the hall, and his gaze latches onto Thorin atop the stone cast. "Bilbo, bring him to me!"

"I can kill him!" he shouts over the guttering flames. "I can kill him this instant! I can end this!"

"You aren't strong enough!" Thorin calls. "You will kill yourself doing him in! Send him to me!"

He hesitates.

 _Tuor, what do I do?_ he prays. _Help me._

 _He is right,_ Tuor tells him from the very depths of the soul. _You are not strong enough._

_I -_

_Listen to your heart, Avatar,_ Tuor says.

He closes his eyes, and thinks, _Thorin._

He lets Smaug go.

It gasps for breath, and immediately advances upon Thorin, stalking towards the mould, and - the gold is _everywhere_ , all-encompassing, _everything_ , and for one brief moment, he understands its allure, its enchanting glow, its hold over the dwarven people.

Then he shakes himself, and looks on with awe as Thorin bends it to his will, pushing the dragon down into the pool of molten metal, seeping into every crevice of the hall, covering the savage _thing_ completely and utterly...

Something in Bilbo's chest tells him this is terribly wrong.

"No," he breathes. "Thorin - !"

Mere seconds pass before it bursts up again, and Bilbo watches as it smashes out of the mountain, spreading its wings and preparing to smite the town he's become so fond of, and he cannot help but run after it, screaming _something_ , he does not know what, and Thorin is chasing after him, and he nearly trips as the cool night breeze meets his skin, a much-needed respite, and he breathes in the stars, his voice catching in his throat, still screaming, and panic overtakes him, and the horror he feels as he realizes the ones he now holds dear to him are going to die - the only ones in all of Arda that are like him, wiped from existence, and he feels as if his world is ending, and - and -

In the distance, he sees fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations (in order of appearance):**  
>  _mithril_ \- silver-steel
> 
>  **Khuzdul translations (in order of appearance):**  
>  _ghivashel_ \- my treasure (lit. treasure of all treasures)
> 
>  **Notable benders:**  
>  Waterbenders - Bilbo Baggins, Bard the Bowman  
> Healers - Bilbo Baggins  
> Earthbenders - Thorin Oakenshield, Beorn  
> Metalbenders - Thorin Oakenshield  
> Firebenders - Fingon, Legolas Thranduillion  
> Airbenders - Tuor, Gandalf the Grey  
> Avatars - Fingon, Tuor, Bilbo Baggins
> 
>  **Legendarium terms glossary (in order of appearance):**  
>  Aulë - the Smith of the Valar, creator of all gems and minerals; father of all dwarves, known to them as Mahal  
> Yavanna - the Valië of the earth; Giver of Fruits and wife to Aulë  
> Fingon - an Elvish prince, son of Fingolfin who became High King of the Noldor and died battling a balrog  
> Tuor - a Man of the First Age and champion of the Edain; the only Man to pass on to Valinor and become immortal until the end of Arda

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments and/or kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
